


Situational Friendship

by The_Lady_Meg



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Snark, Various Avengers being bros with Sam, probably angst too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2652137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lady_Meg/pseuds/The_Lady_Meg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Avengers accidentally end up in another dimension, and stumble upon Sam Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s rare that someone makes Sam feel physically small, but the blond man with the red cape in front of him manages it just fine. He’s staring at Sam like he’s the one that just appeared out of thin air (well, there was some lightning involved, but Sam’s point stands).

He also doesn’t seem overly concerned about the .45 Sam’s aiming at his head.

The stranger clears his throat. “I apologise if I startled you, my friend.” He seems to think that’s sufficient explanation for whatever the fuck just happened.

Sam flicks the safety off. “Who are you, where did you come from, and why are you here?”

“There is no need for weapons, I mean you no harm. I am Thor, son of Odin. Your other two questions are a little more difficult.” The man (wait, no, god?) smiles at him disarmingly. “I am not entirely sure where here is, and I was not consulted regarding my transportation here.”

Sam has approximately a minute to consider that before something large and metal drops into his field of vision.

“Thor, thank fuck for that. Where the hell are we? JARVIS can’t get a lock on any of my satellites and I’ve lost contact with SHIELD.” The visor of what appears to be a large red and gold suit of armor flips up, and the man inside eyes Sam. “Also who’s the hillbilly pointing a gun at you?”

“Stark, stop babbling and start explaining how you managed to get us here.” A red-haired woman in a black jumpsuit has appeared behind Sam, trailing a slightly confused-looking blond guy wearing a black and purple jumpsuit. The woman eyes Sam. “Are you planning on using that?”

He shifts so as to have her in his line of sight. From the amused quirk of her eyebrow, it doesn’t escape her attention. “Depends. What the fuck are you doing here? And why are you dressed like you’re going to Comic Con?”

“Hey!” Sam’s going to assume the guy in armour is Stark. “I’ll have you know this is an entirely functional suit of armour. And probably far too high tech for your backwoods brain to comprehend.”

“Sure it is.” Sam rolls his eyes. “And the fact that it’s red and gold reflects your shy and retiring nature, no doubt.”

Stark grins at him. “Touche. Mind telling us where in hillbilly-ville we’ve managed to land?”

“Kansas.” Sam replies shortly. He’s not too keen on giving out the location of the bunker to random, probably powerful strangers. He was just trying to get some air, for Christ’s sake, get away from Dean and his guilt trips and deflection strategies for a little while. And while they seem friendly enough now, there’s every chance that’ll change once they find out he’s a hunter.

“Huh. Well that doesn’t explain why my satellites aren’t working. Even if the coverage is shit, there’s no way we’re out of range of Stark Tower’s satellites.”

“Not to mention we still have no idea how we got here.” The woman remarks. She shoots Sam another glance. “You don’t recognise us.”

“Should I?” Sam lowers the gun and gestures at Thor. “I mean, I know who he is, but he’s a God. The rest of you don’t seem familiar.”

“Well that’s just insulting.” Stark turns to the woman. “And why did you assume this was my fault?”

“Stark, it’s always your fault.” There’s another blond guy walking out of the trees behind Thor, followed by a half-naked, very embarrassed-looking man who seems to be trying to sink into the ground.

Thor closes his eyes and Sam feels him  _pull_  at the air surrounding them. His gun’s back up before he notices, pointing directly at the god.

“What are you doing?”

The others look slightly confused, and Thor opens his eyes again, leveling a quizzical look at Sam before addressing his friends. “We are not on Midgard. At least, not your Midgard. This is an alternate dimension to the one I usually inhabit. It is not connected to Yggdrasil, and my powers are diminished.”

“Great.” The other blond guy looks supremely exasperated with this turn of events. “How did we manage to hop dimensions, exactly?” He’s still directing his annoyance at Stark.

“Don’t look at me, Cap. I’m brilliant but even I can’t hop over to parallel universes. Yet.” Stark grins. “However, we could ask the Yeti to help us out.”

“Really winning yourself points there, pal.” After some internal misgivings, Sam decided to aim the gun at the most dangerous member of the circus that interrupted his walk. His decision seems justified by the lack of concern the woman exhibits about the gun pointed at her face.

Stark snorts. “I have a charming personality, don’t be ridiculous. There anywhere around here we could go to regroup and figure out how the holy hell we’re supposed to get home. And get some info on this… dimension? Universe? World? Is there even terminology for this kind of thing? We should write a book when we get back, I know people…”

Stark keeps talking while Sam considers. On the one hand, dangerous, possibly supernatural beings from another dimension. On the other, they’re friendly enough, and if they were going to kill him he has a feeling he couldn’t really do much about it. Thor could almost certainly kill him by lifting an eyebrow, and he gets the impression the rest of them aren’t exactly defenseless. Plus, helping people is the Winchester thing when they’re not punch-drunk on revenge and grief.

Thor seems to sense his indecision, and smiles. (Again. He’s very smiley.) “I believe an introduction would perhaps be a better place to start than demanding that he take us somewhere, Stark.” He smiles at Sam. “This is Tony Stark, the Man of Iron. Natasha Romanoff is the lady you are aiming your weapon at. Our other companions are Captain Steven Rogers, Clint Barton and Dr Bruce Banner. We would be most grateful if you could tell us where the nearest town is located.”

_Ah screw it_ _._  Sam lowers his gun and returns it to the back of his belt. “I’m Sam. The nearest town is miles away. My brother and I live near here, we might be able to help.”

Stark raises and eyebrow at him. “You have a batcave or something, mountain man?”

Sam laughs. “Pretty much exactly that. Follow me.”

It’s a short walk back to the bunker, Sam hadn’t gone far. Thor and his companions follow quietly, although Stark occasionally mumbles something about hillbillies and mountains and trekking through woods. Sam tunes him out the same way he used to tune out Dean’s grumbling about his music.

The entrance to the bunker doesn’t impress Stark, if the grumbling about survivalist peasants is any indication. Sam enjoys the sudden quiet when they actually go inside.

He leads them all through to the library and waves at the chairs. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’m going to see if there’s anything in here about dimensional travel.” He eyes Stark. “You want a can-opener for that?”

Barton and Romanoff snort with laughter. Stark settles for glaring at them as his armour seemingly retracts into itself, leaving him standing in a t-shirt and jeans that are covered in engine grease.

“There’s beer in the kitchen.” Sam motions towards the door and turns to Natasha. “Oh, and my brother’s here somewhere, I apologise in advance, and please don’t kill him when he hits on you.”

He’s not reassured by the look of innocence on her face.

“Nothing permanent.” Sam amends, disappearing in between the stacks of books.

“Can we help?” Sam assumes that’s Banner, as he doesn’t recognise the voice.

“Not really, unless you speak Ancient Hebrew, Latin, Ancient Greek, Enochian, Old Mesopotamian -” A thought strikes him and he pokes his head back out from between shelves. “Miss Romanoff, I don’t suppose you speak Russian?”

“Natasha is fine, and yes. Also Latin.”

Sam grins and dumps the small amount of texts he has in Russian in front of her. “Don’t suppose you could go through those? My Russian’s rusty.”

“Of course. Anything in particular I should look for?”

“Any reference to dimensional travel, parallel universes, harnessing the power of your soul, magical transport in general… Pretty much anything you think might be useful. This isn’t something I’m familiar with, the last time I hopped dimensions an angel was the one zapping me back.”

Barton raises an eyebrow. “The last time? You’ve traveled between parallel universes before?”

“Once. It was really fucking weird. Don’t suppose anyone else speaks any of the languages I mentioned?”

Banner puts a hand up. “I can take the Hebrew texts.”

Sam nods and hands him what he already has and considers him briefly. “Do you want a shirt?”

Banner nods, looking relieved, and Sam puts the remainder of his armful of books on the table, waving to the others to help themselves before wandering off to his room. Most of his shirts will swamp the other man, but he gets the feeling Banner won’t care.

He’s cut short in deciding which of his shirts is the closest to actually fitting the doctor when he hears the yelling. When he returns to the library, Dean’s aiming a gun at Rogers, who’s trying to calm him down, while the others talk over him.

“Dean, it’s fine.” Sam hands the shirt to Banner and glares at his brother until Dean lowers the gun. “They’re from another dimension and I’m helping them get home. That’s all.”

“And you brought them here?”

“Well, there wasn’t really another Men of Letters secret underground font of all knowledge within easy reach. So, yeah. I brought them here.”

Rogers nods at Dean. “I apologise for the inconvenience. But we would appreciate your help getting home.”

And isn’t that interesting. That would make the Captain the leader of this bunch, then. Sam’s previous guess would have been Natasha, given the unflappable attitude and the general air of competence, but Rogers just managed to defuse Dean quicker than Sam’s ever been able to. All credit to him for realising Dean just needed to be given the choice. (And isn’t that ironic, he muses.)

Dean scowls, grunts what Sam takes to be assent, and promptly stomps out the door, muttering something about the nearest bar.

Which is how Sam Winchester ends up researching dimensional travel in a room full of comic book heroes. Yeah, his life is weird.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes over two days for Sam to find anything of use. Admittedly, quite a few of those hours are spent trying to make sure the Avengers (yes Sam still thinks that’s funny) don’t break the bunker or either of the Winchesters. There was a slightly painful scene halfway through the first day after Dean got back from the bar he’d stormed off to and made a pass at Natasha.

Sam’s now slightly more familiar with Russian swear words, and Dean has a set of bruises that look painful and long-lasting. Natasha just looked smug.

Eventually Sam manages to piece together enough lore, complicated dimensional spells, and guesswork to come up with a ritual that should (hopefully, maybe, probably) send the Avengers back to their dimension. As far as they can tell, they were sent here accidentally (although Thor admitted to controlling the direction of the spell so that they’d actually land in a parallel dimension, and not the Void - Thor’s terminology) so there shouldn’t be anything stopping them from going back. Providing Sam’s spellwork is up to scratch, of course.

The spell requires a full moon, according to Sam’s best guess, which isn’t for another two weeks. The self-proclaimed Masters of the Universe (Tony’s contribution after he’d finished trying to put together some equations that make Sam’s head hurt just looking at them) therefore end up hanging around the bunker for a little longer than expected.

They don’t tend to spend much time all together - too much ego and power in one room, Sam thinks - so most days he manages to keep the damage and the stress migraines to a minimum.

Bruce spends most of his time in the library or meditating in the fields near the bunker. Sam passes him on his morning runs and stops to talk to him sometimes. Generally he tries to avoid Bruce in enclosed spaces, though, after the doctor had explained why he’d been half naked that first day.

Tony’s decided the entire computer system needs a revamp. Sam tried to keep up with him for a whole morning before giving up and just leaving him to it. If he breaks it too badly Sam can rebuild it, and everything important is backed up anyway. Besides, he’d prefer Tony be occupied. He’d managed to make the microwave emit sporadic low-level EMPs before Dean took a crowbar to it a few hours later and banned Tony from the kitchen.

Steve is down in the depths of the bunker exploring, and as far as Sam knows Barton went with him. They seem relatively competent, and if they trigger something they’re not supposed to Sam has great faith in the power of Natasha’s raised eyebrow of disdain.

Natasha and Thor, however, seem to have decided that they want to follow Sam around, and he’s not really sure how he feels about that. He spends an entire day sitting with them both in the library, just reading some of the books that have caught his interest, not because he has to but because he  _wants_  to. It’s not like he’s slacking off or avoiding research for another case, because their current case is still wandering around their home and occasionally blowing shit up. He shows Thor bits and pieces of his reading, usually involving magic and soul-harnessing, which ends in hour-long debates about the nature of the soul and power and the universe, and it’s _fascinating_. Hunting is sometimes interesting, but the research he does for a hunt is usually tinged with desperation, a constant litany of “ _can’t let more people die can’t fail again faster faster faster you’re letting people die you **monster**_ ”, whereas this? This is knowledge for its own sake, and debate because the other person has a point of view that is interesting and there’s no right or wrong and  _God has he missed this_.

Natasha contributes sometimes as well, but mostly she seems happy to sit back and listen to the two of them debate back and forth. Sam almost feels happy.

In hindsight, it seems inevitable that the content he’s feeling couldn’t last. The catalyst comes in the form of Thor deciding they should all get drunk together and share stories.

At first, Sam’s brain doesn’t really catch up, because Thor has some damn good stories. Tony’s various and varied misadventures are also entertaining, in their own way, and the others chime in with anecdotes now and then. (For the record, Sam is very glad their world isn’t his. The supernatural is one thing, alien armies and government implosions are another.)

It’s not until Thor looks at him expectantly that he realises he’s waiting for Sam to share a story of his own. To tell them all some story about himself, something that he’s proud of, and it isn’t really until the silence has stretched a little too long and Sam has wracked his brains for something that it dawns on him that he really hasn’t done anything to be proud of. His stories all end in failure.

Natasha’s the one to help him through the awkward silence, in the end. “Tell us how you found this place? Not everyday you stumble on an underground bunker with a library with six different demonology sections, right?”

So he does. He tells them about Henry and Abaddon and time-travel (Tony lights up when he hears that, looking fascinated by the possibilities. Steve just looks wistful) and introducing his grandfather to a world he didn’t live long enough to know. It ends in failure, but not entirely. Henry died but he died proud of his son and grandsons. Abaddon was contained and they found the bunker and it’s actually a decent story. Thor calls a toast to Henry’s memory and Sam smiles and drinks with the rest of them.

The problem is, one thing leads to another and he’s telling them about Abaddon’s war with Crowley, and Crowley using Dean, and Kevin and Gadreel, and that’s when he realises that they’re all unusually silent. He trails off and forces a smile.

“Sorry. It’s not… You wouldn’t be… It all ended up alright.”

“Someone was in your head?” Clint looks sick to his stomach. “Like, actually in control of you. And everything you thought, all your memories.”

Sam nods, staring at the bottle in his hands and wishing desperately for someone to change the subject.

“How did you get him out?” Clint’s not looking at anyone either, Sam notices. He’s staring into space like it holds the secrets to the universe.

“Angels require consent. I didn’t consent to him possessing me, so when I realised he was there I could kick him out. There’s residual Grace leftover in me, some from him and some from… Anyway. There’s leftover Grace in me, but he’s gone. And he’s dead now anyway.”

“Okay, no offense, mountain man, but aren’t angels… You know, supremely powerful, or something? Or, not supremely, because there’s the whole God thing, but they’re kind of the top tier of the food chain, right? So how the hell did you manage to kick him out if he was already possessing you? And for that matter how did he possess you in the first place?” Tony takes another swig of Scotch. “And how didn’t you know? I’d have thought massive feathery wings would make an impression.”

“He was wiping my memory whenever he needed. He was able to possess me because Dean helped him trick me into agreeing to it. I thought I was agreeing to fight to live while I was in a coma. Turns out I was saying yes to being possessed by an angel.” He smiles mirthlessly. “As for your other question… Well, let’s just say I’ve had practice.”

Natasha’s right eyebrow makes its way up her forehead. “You’ve had practice. At kicking angels out of your head.”

 “Well, not exactly. Fighting angels inside my head, yes. I didn’t kick the last one out, that would have kind of defeated the point.”

“The last one?” Clint’s still staring at something the rest of them can’t see, but his focus is entirely on Sam.

Sam swallows. “Lucifer.”


	3. Chapter 3

The silence lasts longer this time (five minutes, twenty seven seconds, his mind informs him). Even Clint’s turned to look at him properly, and the others are all staring at him, looking somewhere between terrified and horrified.

Eventually, Steve clears his throat. “When you say Lucifer, is that the same as it would be for us?”

“I assume so. The Devil, right?”

“And he possessed you.” The horrified look on Steve face is deepening by the second.

“Yep.” Sam finishes his beer and debates going for the liquor cabinet Tony’s sitting on. Natasha preempts him by handing him another beer.

“How did he… How did he possess you, then? You said Gadreel tricked you?”

Sam debates lying for a second. It’d be easy. Blame it on Ruby, on Lilith, on Zachariah, on Lucifer himself. It’d be so damn easy, and then he wouldn’t have to have this conversation.

“I agreed to it.”

“You _what_???” Tony waves the hand holding his glass in Sam’s direction.

Natasha stands up, walks over to Tony and slaps him round the back of the head, before returning to her seat next to Sam, sitting cross-legged and staring at him.

“Why?”

“We thought, if I could take back control for long enough, that I could jump back into the prison he was in before and take him with me.”

Natasha drops her face into her hands and massages her temples for a few moments. “So, to clarify. You agreed to let the Devil possess you so that you could imprison him. And you succeeded.”

Sam nods.

“Ok, I realise I might be missing something here, but that doesn’t really answer Nat’s question. Why the hell would you do that?” Clint seems to have snapped out of whatever memory he was in and is now gazing at Sam intently.

“Because I let him out. And besides, I was his vessel, he wouldn’t have agreed to possess anyone else. It had to be me.”

There’s another silence, shorter this time, until Tony snorts. “Jesus Christ, kid, you’re possibly more messed up than we are.” He leans back in the armchair he’s slouching in and downs the rest of his Scotch, staring at Sam meditatively. It’s an unusual look on him, from what Sam’s seen. “What happened after you jumped?”

“Tony!” Steve glares at him.

“What? Look, Cap, I ain’t making him talk, but if he wants to, then at least he’s talking to a bunch of almost equally fucked up people who won’t judge him for it.”

Steve grumbles under his breath but doesn’t continue the argument, obviously conceding the point.

Sam swallows. “There was another archangel there as well. Michael. I… or Lucifer, I don’t actually know, pulled him in with us.” His mouth twisted. “Neither of them liked me very much.”

Natasha moves closer to Sam and runs her fingers over the pulse in his wrist. It’s oddly soothing.

“You need not tell us anything you do not wish to,” Thor says with authority, looking older than he usually does.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just… It was what you’d expect, really. I’d screwed up their plan and I was down there with them. They were always going to-” His voice tails off. “Anyway, I got out. One of the angels is a friend of ours, he got my body out, and Death got the rest. And I’m mostly ok now.”

Bruce looks down to where he’s scratching at his palm. “Define ok.”

A wave of defensiveness floods though him, most of which he knows is unjustified. He’s a mess and he knows it but he’s dealing, damnit.

“I don’t get confused as to what’s real and what’s not anymore. And I don’t hallucinate things… Well, I don’t hallucinate Hell, anymore.”

Clint fiddles with a cuff round his wrist. “So it gets better?”

“What does?”

“You’ve had someone else in your head, right? Does it… Do you ever stop second-guessing yourself? Wondering if he might not be entirely gone?”

Lucifer waves at him from the back of the room.

Sam shakes his head and tries not to look at Clint’s face. “I still see Him, but… It might be different, for you? I mean, I was genetically engineered for Lucifer. This is more his body than mine, and I spent so long in the Cage with him and Michael that I don’t really remember what it was like to not feel like that, or to not see him. That might not be the same for you, it might get better.”

Clint smiles at him - more of a grimace, really - and nods.

Natasha stares at him thoughtfully. “The worst part is that it doesn’t hurt. Not entirely. Someone took you apart and put you back together wrong and you can’t really remember being any other way, so it feels right.”

“Something like that.” Sam takes a swig of his beer and ignores the icy fingertip trailing down his spine.

Natasha nods. “I know what it is to have someone take away every part of you that seems to matter.” She holds her beer out for him to clink. “Here’s to taking it back.”

Sam clinks his bottle against hers and downs the rest of it.

Thor, however, stands up and moves to sit on Sam’s other side, although not close enough to be threatening, and spreads his arms slightly, a gesture Sam recognises from when he was young enough that Dean hugged him just because he wanted to.

He practically crashes into Thor, is promptly folded in the god’s arms, and feels safe for what feels like the first time ever, surrounded by lightning and thunder that he knows instinctively won’t hurt him. The gods of their world seem kinder than the ones he knows.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!

The conversation dies soon after that, the rest of the Avengers drifting out, still looking somewhat shellshocked, leaving Sam and Thor alone. He should pull himself out of the god’s arms and go to bed, he knows. If Dean walks in and sees him like this he’ll never hear the end of it. But Thor’s arms tighten when he starts moving to get back up, and he gives in, because hell knows it’s been years since someone touched him without expecting anything. Since Jess, in fact. He doesn’t notice falling asleep, but when he wakes up the next morning Thor’s still there and there’s a blanket draped over the pair of them. He stands and leaves before Thor wakes up, not entirely sure what to make of the entire thing. Hugging him’s one thing, having Sam fall asleep on him and then not moving him for the entire night seems a bit… odd. Especially after Sam basically word-vomited his life story at them. There’s a tendril of shame curling around the back of his head, now that he’s not tipsy, and he’s faintly horrified about how much he told them.

Natasha corners him while he’s making breakfast, and talks to him about languages and demonology until he feels calmer. Tony and Bruce then wander in and proceed to destroy that calm, but it’s… different. Like they were handling him with kid gloves before, and now they know better. Natasha doesn’t possess the capacity for kid gloves, so she’s much as she ever was, but Steve makes an effort to talk to him more. Clint still keeps his distance but Sam recognises enough of his own trauma in the archer to know not to take it personally. Thor is his usual loud self, but he touches Sam more. Claps on the back when Sam snarks back at Natasha or Steve, pats on his shoulder when he helps Steve talk Tony out of breaking something else, random hugs whenever he feels like it. It’s slightly unsettling but surprisingly easy to get used to. He still sits with Sam and tells him about Asgard and his brother (and there’s a set of issues that makes his and Dean’s look insignificant), and the various ways he doesn’t understand Midgardians. Sam thinks that might partially be because the Avengers as a whole aren’t a great example of the common man, but he keeps that to himself.

Dean wanders in occasionally now. He’d spent the previous few days at the local bar, avoiding Sam and their guests as much as possible, but now he seems almost reconciled to their presence. He ends up sparring with Clint a few times and surprisingly holds his own, although Sam suspects the archer’s holding back. That particular “friendship” lasts right up to the point where Gadreel comes up in one of their conversations (Sam doesn’t know how it happened, he was talking to Thor in the library) and Clint makes a concerted effort to beat Dean’s face in. Sam and Thor are alerted to the fight by Dean’s yelp of pain, and it takes the combined efforts of Natasha and Steve to pull Clint off Dean. Thor doesn’t bother, just stands in front of Sam in a vaguely protective manner. Sam’s unsure who he’s being protected from, but it’s annoying nonetheless.

Dean is furious when Barton’s pulled off him and is only prevented from jumping on the archer now he’s restrained by judicious application of Steve’s drill-sergeant voice, which effectively silences the room.

Sam’s the first to find his voice. “Clint, what the hell?”

The look the archer directs at him is faintly incredulous. “Are you kidding me? He helped someone possess you and you’re asking why I think he needs the shit beaten out of him? Sam, why the fuck are you still here?” Steve and Natasha both look stunned, but not Thor. Thor just looks angry.

Sam’s trying to find words to defend his brother (and he doesn’t really want to, but if he doesn’t Clint might actually kill Dean) when Dean decides opening his mouth is a good plan.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, really Sam? Are you still pissy about that? I saved your life!”

Great. Just fucking great. “Dean, we’ve been over this. I didn’t want you to save me, it was my time to go, and I sure as shit didn’t want to be possessed. Again. We’ve had this conversation, multiple times, and you don’t seem to get why what you did was horrifically awful, so please just shut up. Clint, I appreciate that you’re on my side but I really don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

Sam turns and leaves the room, heading for his bedroom where he hopes to God everyone will just leave him alone for a while. He manages to hold off the incipient breakdown until the door closes behind him (and feels oddly proud of that) before curling up in a ball on his bed and trying to contain the shivers running down his back.

A soft knock on the door a few minutes later pulls him from his memories enough to tell whoever it is to come in (besides, it’s not as if they need permission, he couldn’t keep them out if he tried, _better to just give in and wait for it to be over_ \- No. He’s fine. He’s in the bunker. He’s fine). Natasha ghosts through the doorway, carrying an armful of blankets that she dumps on the end of Sam’s bed before critically surveying Sam, who’s struggling to sit up.

“Can I help?” She pushes the door closed behind her.

Sam attempts a smile. Judging by her expression, it doesn’t work out. “I don’t… I don’t know?”

She nods. “Ok. I’m going to wrap a few of these around you, is that ok?”

“Oh… Yeah, I guess? I’m not really cold, it’s just.. memories and stuff. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure, but no reason not to speed the process along, right?” She drapes one of the larger blankets over his shoulders, and another couple over his stomach and legs. “Besides, blankets make almost everything better. Proven fact.”

The grin Sam sends at her doesn’t feel as feeble as his last attempt.

“Do you want me to go?”

Sam shakes his head and smiles as she sits cross-legged on the end of the bed with the rest of the blankets, pulling the one over his feet towards her to cover her legs.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Sam shakes his head again.

“Ok.”

This is ridiculous. He’s not five, for God’s sake, he can handle a few bad memories. “The others. You should… Clint looked upset, he could probably do with talking to someone.”

“There are another four someone’s on my team that he can talk to, and right now I’m more worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re really not, and that’s ok. No-one’s asking you to be.”

“Natasha, really, I’ll be ok, and I’d really rather your team didn’t go off on Dean.”

“Steve’ll keep them in line, and I’ve threatened to remove fingernails from the next person to -” Sam can’t quite contain his flinch “- Shit, Sam, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That was a really stupid joke. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. Just… wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Because panic attacks suck and the boys are pretty shit at keeping a lid on their temper long enough to be helpful. I can go get Thor if you’d prefer, though?”

“No, that’s… That’s fine, I don’t want to bother him.” Besides, Thor’s _big_. Rationally, he knows that his chances of being able to subdue Natasha in a fight are even slimmer than his chances with Thor, but for the moment it’s helping that she’s smaller than him.

“It wouldn’t bother him.”

“Right, but I… I’d prefer if you stayed?”

She smiles at him. “I can do that.”

Her eyes drop to where he’s twisting his hands together, and she leans forward, gently tugging his hands towards her and keeping them still, thumbs rubbing circles into his palms. “You’re ok, Sam. You’re in the bunker, with me, and Thor’s standing guard at the end of the hallway. Steve and Clint have gone off to stop Tony butchering your computer system and Bruce is outside meditating. Trust me, nothing’s getting past the Hulk. And if it did, Thor’s pretty scary when he wants to be. We’re all here, and you’re ok. I promise.”

They sit like that for a while, until Sam’s breathing goes back to normal and he feels warm again. 


	5. Chapter 5

He’s woken the next morning (it’s probably morning, anyway. He misses windows) by another knock on his door. Natasha uncurls herself from the end of the bed, where she had apparently been sleeping, and pulls the door open with her foot without moving from the bed.

Clint pokes his head round the door and shoves a plate of pancakes in front of him.

“I brought apology pancakes!”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “If he’s the one that made them, don’t touch them. Boiling water and microwaving is about as far as his cooking skills extend.”

“Tony made them.” Clint grins sheepishly. “But I totally had the idea to bring you some, so they count as apology pancakes.”

Sam takes the plate warily. “What are you apologising for, exactly?”

“The whole beating up your brother thing.” Clint’s edged through the doorway and is now leaning against a wall, scowling at Natasha as she snags a pancake from the plate. “I maintain that he was in crying need of having the shit beaten out of him, and still is, but it totally wasn’t my place to do it.”

“… Ok?” Sam chews thoughtfully on one of the pancakes. “Just don’t do it again, I guess. Why d’you think he needs beating up?”

“Seriously?” Clint raises his eyebrows at Natasha. “ _Seriously_? I figured you’d have covered this by now.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You said it was because he helped someone possess me. What I don’t get is why you got so upset about it.” Well. He might have a slight idea, but he’d like to have it confirmed. Incomplete information annoys him.

Clint sighs. “Yeah, ok, fair point. So there was this… Thor told you about Loki, right? His brother?” Sam nods. “Ok so he was trying to take over the world and he stole something from SHIELD that I was guarding, and I was in the room when he transmat beamed in. He had this sceptre thing that let him take over people’s minds, and… He got me. When I woke up I found out I’d led a group of mercenaries onto the Helicarrier, killed fifty-seven SHIELD personnel and broken Loki out of lockup. So I know what it’s like to not be able to control your own body, and the thought of anyone I cared about helping someone do that to me…”

“Yeah ok.” Sam nods, tired again even though he only just woke up. “Apology accepted. Thanks for the pancakes. And, uh, I’m sorry?”

Clint shrugs. “No sweat. The amount of mandatory psych eval hoops I had to jump through to get back in the field, I’m more or less over it now. Beating the shit out of your brother notwithstanding.”

Sam smiles awkwardly and eats another pancake. Clint seems to take that as his cue to leave and disappears without another word. Natasha scoots up the bed to sit next to Sam and snags another of his pancakes.

“He shouldn’t have done it, and I’ll make him apologise to Dean if you really need him to. But he is, unfortunately, right.”

“About what? That Dean needs the shit beating out of him?”

“Not quite. Well, yes, but that wasn’t what I meant. Yesterday he asked you why you were still here. You don’t have to tell me, of course. You don’t owe me anything. But I would like to know, if you would like to tell me.”

“He’s my brother. He’s all I have and I … love him. I can’t abandon him. Not now, not when he might…”

“Might what?” She looks so very understanding, and kind, and despite knowing that she’s almost certainly manipulating him into something he gives in.

“He might hurt someone. He got bad last year, really bad. If I left and he hurt someone…”

“He already is hurting someone, Sam. He’s hurting you. Isn’t he?”

“That’s not… You haven’t been here for very long, you don’t understand.”

“I understand being the bad guy no-one wants to trust. I understand doing things you’re not proud of because you were misled or angry or grieving. I understand wanting trust from the people you work with and having them withhold it because you’re not one of them. I understand a lot of things, Sam. I even understand wanting to stay with the person who hurts you because you think you deserve it.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. I didn’t deserve Dean tricking me into being possessed, and I didn’t deserve him chasing me round the bunker trying to kill me when he was a demon, but that’s not  _him_. That’s not who he is, not really. He screwed up with Gadreel and maybe one day he’ll apologise for that, but I can’t just run away. Hunting is what we do.” He paused and stared at his hands for a moment. “Besides, where the hell would I go? There’s literally nowhere in the world that I could go where supernatural crap wouldn’t find me. I tried to get out of hunting before, a couple times in fact. I got dragged back in both times and people got hurt because of it. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

“You could come with us.”

“What?”

“Back to our world. No supernatural crap there. Well, I mean, there’s gods and the occasional bit of magic and I swear if Tony creates one more thing that tries to kill us I’ll murder him, but no demons. Or angels.”

“I can’t just run off to another dimension, Natasha.”

“Why not?”

“Because of Dean! He needs me, whether or not he wants to admit it, and I can’t leave him here on his own to - to…” Sam trails off. He’s not even sure what he’s scared of any more, just that he’s terrified, and that no-one can really help.

“To hurt people? Sam, he’s your brother, not your son. You are not responsible for him, or his actions.  _He_  chose to go out and get the stupid murder mark.  _He_  chose to kill people.  _He_  chose to help Gadreel possess you, you knew nothing about it.”

“I should have gotten control back sooner.”

“How? Christ alive, Sam, even with experience, even if you knew it was happening, it can’t have been easy! You didn’t know and you didn’t agree to it and whatever you see in your nightmares, what he did with your body was not your fault. It was Gadreel’s. And, in part, Dean’s.”

Sam doesn’t trust his voice enough to say anything.

“As for everything else, so what? You started the Apocalypse? You ended it too, and at great personal cost. You have owned up to what you did wrong, and fixed everything that you broke.”

“Not everything. People died because of me, good people. Dean - Dean called me a monster once, and -”

She interrupts him. “You are not a monster. You aren’t. I know monsters, Sam. I’ve worked for them, with them, and against them. I’ve even been one. Still am, on bad days. But you aren’t. Everything you did, you did with good intentions, and that counts for more than you know.”

“Maybe. But I can’t leave Dean. And you’re all leaving in a couple of days, and I’ll be back to hunting like usual. You guys being here… You’re all great, but it doesn’t change anything. There’s still a job to do, and I can’t run away from my responsibilities. Not again.”

Natasha stares at him, then sighs and gets up. “I understand. I wish I could convince you otherwise, but I understand. I’ll get Clint to apologise to Dean, that might make things easier.”

“No, don’t worry, it’ll be fine, Clint shouldn’t have to apologise, it’s understandable.”

“I know that, and you know that, and he knows that, but your life here might be a bit easier after we left if he does apologise. One less thing for Dean to get angry about, right?” She smiles stiltedly at him. “If we can’t be here, at least we can try not to leave things worse than we found them.”

Sam nods and tries to smile for her as she slips from the room. It’s not fair to put all this on her, but she’s leaving in a few days, and then everything will go back to how it was. To normal. The thought curdles Sam’s stomach a little. Normal doesn’t seem worth looking forward to anymore.

He’ll miss them. They’re friends, more or less. His friends, not Dean’s friends that  tolerate him for his brother’s sake, his.

_And they’re leaving._

Story of his life, right? At least they’re not dead.


	6. Chapter 6

The day the Avengers are due to leave is uncomfortable all round. The full moon is that night, the ritual is in place, and they’re leaving. Sam has mostly made his peace with it, but there’s a tiny part of him that wants to say “fuck it” and go with them. It’s the same part that got him into Stanford, that made him stay with Amelia, that told him to run away when he was a kid. He can’t and he shouldn’t, but God, does he _want_. Just the thought of a world without the supernatural hanging over his head is tempting, but he would have friends, as well. Actual friends, his friends, who listen to him and care about him. But he can’t. He owes his brother more than that.

Dean hangs around the bunker all day, supposedly to help with the ritual, but Sam can’t help feeling that he’s there to make sure they leave. Clint apologised to Dean a couple of days after the fact for the sparring incident. His brother had responded with a snort and had left for the nearest bar (again. There’s a whisper of guilt in Sam’s head, telling him that he’s driving his brother out of his home, this is Dean’s home and he’s earned it). Since then he’s taken every opportunity to be around when Sam gets a chance to talk to the Avengers, making food or listening to music in the library or cleaning the weapons in the war room. He’s unimpressed by Sam and Thor’s debates, and doesn’t hesitate to tell them so. He sometimes talk weapons with Tony or Steve, who take it on themselves to distract him so Sam can talk to one of the others, but it’s not like before Clint’s outburst. Sam feels horrible for even thinking it, but it was better without Dean.

The evening drags on interminably as the Avengers all sit around in the library waiting for the moon to rise, Dean drinking whiskey out of the bottle with his legs propped up on the table. Even Tony runs out of things to talk about, and when he thinks Sam’s not looking there’s this horribly sad expression on his face. He’s already picked through all Sam’s research about dimensional travel, and is taking extensive notes back with him, while being extremely close-lipped about what he wants them for. Sam’s already ratted him out to Thor, who rolled his eyes and said he’d keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t accidentally break the Multiverse (the name was a collaborative effort between Clint and Tony, and had required much arguing).

Clint, Steve and Sam end up in a dart-throwing competition, using a board they found while exploring the bunker, although Sam bows out gracefully four games in when Clint hits the bullseye from the other side of the library with a dart Natasha made out of a paperclip. He goes instead to sit with Tony, Bruce and Thor, and listens to Tony grumble goodnaturedly about master assassins and their sneakiness. Thor occasionally chimes in with anecdotes about Lady Sif and his other friends from Asgard who commit treason and fight giant robots for fun. Sam almost wants to meet them.

He won’t, though. The Avengers are needed in their universe, not this one, and he’s needed here, whatever Dean may say. He can’t leave. Natasha hasn’t tried to change his mind again, but he already knows she thinks he’s insane for staying. She and Thor have both been sticking to him like glue, more so than before, especially when Dean’s around. The god hasn’t said anything about Dean or Sam leaving with them, but he’s even more touchy-feely than usual. The hugs have become more frequent, and Sam fell asleep on him again two nights ago, in the middle of a conversation about soul magic and its uses in the healing arts. Thor had been awake when Sam woke up, this time, but brushed off Sam’s apologies with a smile and an assurance that he was just glad Sam was sleeping. It’s more than obvious that Natasha has told him about Sam’s breakdown, but Thor understands better than most that you can’t abandon family.

They’ve set the ritual up in the same place Sam first met them, reasoning that it’s probably best to try and parallel the initial universe jump as closely as possible. It’s precisely seven minutes past eleven when he deems the ritual ready, squares his shoulders, and prepares to start reading the incantation, only to be stopped by Natasha tackle-hugging him. And he does mean tackle-hugging. He wraps his arms around her and whispers “Thank you” in her ear, holding on for as long as possible before letting her go. Thor’s next, wrapping him in a hug so tight he almost can’t breathe. There’s a firm handshake from Steve, identical awkward waves from Tony and Bruce, and a cheeky half-salute from Clint. Dean rolls his eyes from across the clearing and demands they “get on with it, the next full moon’s not for a month”.

He has to start the ritual now. No more stalling.

The incantation takes barely two minutes to recite, there’s a flash of what looks like lightning but Sam now knows is a glimpse of the Void, and they’re gone. Dean nods, knocks back some more whiskey and heads back.

Sam packs up the papers and the ingredients that are reuseable, and burns the rest so as not to concern any hikers that might find the place. He trudges slowly back to the bunker, and re-immerses himself in research on the Mark. He has work to do, and there’s no use dwelling on the impossible.

 

* * *

 

Six and a half months later, Dean summons him to a restaurant where he’s waiting with Death to kill him, tells him he’s selfish, and beats him half to death. He almost executes him. His own brother almost kills him, was going to kill him, he doesn’t know why he didn’t, he was going to… Dean wanted to kill him.

But it’s ok, it’s going to be ok, because he kills Death instead, and Castiel and Rowena manage to remove the Mark, and for a moment Sam entertains the thought that he might get out of this. He might be ok.

That hope lasts until black smoke starts streaking through the sky. Sam runs for the car, just behind Dean, and -

There’s a flash of light, and Dean’s not there anymore. The smoke is gone. He pivots, confused, and the restaurant’s different, has regular white lighting instead of red. The Impala’s gone as well.

This is impossible, what the _hell_ …

He doesn’t get to freak out about it for long, though. The massive jet landing in the field next to the diner puts a stop to that, and he puts it all together just before Thor strides down the steps that unfolded from the back of the plane. He stays where he is, stunned into silence, as the god makes his way over to him, past the crowd just outside the diner who are taking videos on their phones.

“Sam, my friend! Welcome!” Thor booms, and wraps him in a bear hug that Sam returns enthusiastically.

“Thor, what… How…” Sam trails off, not really sure where to start.

Thor grins and starts guiding him towards the jet, a hand between his shoulders. Sam manages to find his voice as he’s being propelled up the steps.

“What the hell am I doing here?”

Natasha pokes her head out from round the pilot’s seat and grins. “We’re kidnapping you. You’ll want to strap yourself in, we have to be in New York in twenty minutes if we want pancakes.”

Sam sits down next to Thor, fastens an overly complicated seat harness, and smiles. 


End file.
